Anastasia
I never thought the day would come when I'd willingly step foot anywhere near them again. My family, the very people I had once trusted with my life—had unknowingly become pawns in a much larger game. I crouched low behind the rusted iron gate, half-shielded by the withering vines, my breath catching in my throat as I watched from afar. There they were. My father's gait hadn't changed—stubborn, sharp, every step purposeful. My mother, her hands flailing as she scolded someone unseen inside the house, probably my little brother who always managed to be both a menace and a marvel.
The weight of the moment slammed into my chest like a boulder, and my knees nearly gave way. God, how I wanted to run to them. I wanted to scream that I was alive, that I'd never really left. That the lies, the whispers, the staged betrayal—none of it had been my choice. But I couldn't. I had to stay in the shadows. Not yet. Not until everything was ready.
Tears welled up in my eyes, and I didn't bother wiping them away. Let them fall. Let them speak what I couldn't. It was the kind of ache that gnawed at your soul—the kind that reminded you just how human you were. I pressed my palm to the cold metal gate, just to feel something real, something grounding.
I was shaking, damn it. Shaking like a frightened little girl, but I couldn't afford to be that anymore. No more innocence. No more mercy. I had a plan, and that plan was revenge. And the first step meant keeping my distance, infiltrating without warning, pretending to be the ghost they hoped was gone for good.
My phone buzzed in my jacket pocket, and I flinched, startled. I fumbled for it with trembling fingers, wiping the tears away with the back of my hand as I glanced at the screen. It was Vincent. I knew the moment I saw his name that the message would sting. It always did.
"Kelvin has a woman. Been seeing her for months now. Thought you should know."
I stared at those words until they blurred, then disappeared completely behind a bitter smile. "Of course he does," I whispered to myself, a trace of laughter bubbling from my throat, hollow and cold.
"He always moves on quickly. Like nothing ever touches him. Like I never meant a damn thing." The rage was quiet. Not loud or fiery. It was the kind that simmered beneath the skin, that curled its fingers around your ribcage and refused to let go. The kind that didn't make you scream—it made you plan.
I typed back, my thumbs moving slowly over the screen. "Good. Let her think she's won. It'll make watching his downfall so much sweeter."
I didn't even wait for Vincent to reply. I slipped the phone back into my pocket and drew in a slow breath, watching the way my mother disappeared into the house, her voice fading behind the screen door. My heart thudded painfully. I wanted to hug her. I wanted to feel her arms around me again, to bury my face into her shoulder and just breathe. But that part of me—the daughter they remembered—had to die for now. I couldn't be both Anastasia the beloved and Anastasia the executioner.
Kelvin. That name alone twisted everything inside me. He didn't know I was back. Not yet. And he definitely didn't know that every step he took, every whisper he muttered into that woman's ear, every crooked deal he struck, I would know it all. Vincent had made sure of that. God bless him, even if his loyalty came with thorns. I was going to use everything I had to deal with Kelvin.
I leaned back into the shadows, steadying my breath, and whispered to the night, "You ruined everything, Kelvin. But now... now I get to watch you unravel. Piece by piece."
And when it's over—when I finally walk through that front door not as a ghost but as the storm, I'll see if my family still knows how to recognize their daughter. Or if the blood on my hands will make them look away.
But for now... I wait.
**********************
I stood by the cracked windowpane of the old motel room, watching the pale light of dawn bleed slowly into the room like a bruise. My fingers twitched by my sides, the anger beneath my skin simmering to the surface, turning everything I touched to fire. Kelvin. That name had become the sound of poison in my mouth. I knew he wouldn't stop until I was silenced, until I was no longer a threat to the empire of lies he built over the years.
I wasn't stupid. I saw it in his eyes the last time we crossed paths — that rabid glint of a man who wouldn't rest until he saw the dirt shoveled over my coffin with his own two hands. But he hadn't counted on one thing: I wasn't afraid of death anymore. Not since he took everything from me.
The plan... it was supposed to be simple. Go in, get close, tear him down from the inside out. But I couldn't lie to myself — every time I envisioned his face, every time I heard that cold, smug voice of his in my head, my thoughts went dark. Vengeful. Primitive.
"You're weak, Ana," he'd sneered once, right after he left me for dead. "You love too much, and that's always been your curse." And maybe it was. Maybe he was right. But he made the mistake of thinking I wouldn't rise from the ashes with nothing left to lose.
I paced the room, bare feet dragging across the wooden floor, my breath hitching as memories clawed their way up from the past. "I should just end him," I whispered to myself, clutching the edge of the table until my knuckles turned white.
"Just... look him in the eye and squeeze the fucking life out of him until he begs me for mercy." I laughed bitterly, the sound broken and feral.
"But mercy? That's not something men like Kelvin deserve."
I still remember the way he smiled when he ruined me — when he burned my world to the ground and called it a lesson. "You'll thank me for this someday," he had said. I almost did. Because in that destruction, I found something I didn't know I had — rage. A kind of sharp, unrelenting rage that kept me breathing when I should've collapsed. A fire that whispered to me every single night.
"Anastasia, your story isn't over. Not until he's on the ground."
But the deeper I delved into the plan, the more my hate began to consume me. I started seeing him in every shadow, hearing his voice in every silence. I couldn't even close my eyes without imagining his face twisted in agony, his hands trembling as he realized his end had come — and that I was the one delivering it.
"Do you know what it feels like, Kelvin?" I murmured, staring at the mirror, my own reflection looking like a stranger.
"To wake up every day with your heart wrapped in barbed wire, with your lungs filled with screams you never got to let out? I do. I fucking do."
I was losing parts of myself. The girl I used to be, kind, hopeful, maybe even forgiving- she was fading fast. And in her place stood a woman shaped by betrayal and fed by vengeance. I couldn't tell if that was a good thing anymore. But I did know one thing: I wouldn't stop. Not until he fell. Not until I looked him in the eye as the light faded from his, and he knew, he knew it was me.
"I'm coming for you, Kelvin," I said, my voice steady now, cold like winter steel. "And when I do... you'll wish you'd buried me deeper."